


my soul knows yours

by siriuslydraco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:12:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslydraco/pseuds/siriuslydraco
Summary: Maybe in our next life, Jon Snowthey were souls born from tragedy, only to die again in love.Jonsa Soulmate AU





	my soul knows yours

Panic and chaos is tangible in the air and Jon feels it thick and heavy on his tongue. Mixed with the iron taste of blood and sweat it creates a mixture that makes him want to get sick all over the golden flagstones. But there is no time to give in to sickness, and no time to think about the stench of death that clings to the dense air. There's a clash of sword on sword behind his ear and he swirls in just enough time to catch the swinging blade with his own, the echo of valyrian on forged steel rings in his ear like a sept bell. 

Kings Landing is in uproar, the streets run with blood and every corner of the rat infested city is piling with dead bodies; some are Lannister men and Queensguard, and some belong to the Targaryens. Jon has lost count of how many men he's maimed since his Aunt stormed the city, but he knows it's too late to care. His soul is already destroyed. There is a sudden burst of dragon fire along the streets of Flea Bottom and Jon ducks into an alcove to avoid it, the whirling flames and screams of the dying rush past in the wind. 

War is raging, but the only thing on Jon's mind is Sansa Stark. She insisted on coming to battle, although Jon vehemently disagreed and fought and fought with her so much he made himself hoarse. Arya was here, somewhere in the city, clashing swords with men twice her age and three times as big and the red haired Lady of Winterfell felt as though she could do the same. But Arya was lethal with a sword, trained across the seas and pushed by her own anger, and Daenerys had her dragons; those beasts her own weapons. 

But Sansa's drive for battle is _Cersei Lannister_.  The false Queen of Westeros that made Sansa's life as miserable as the deepest depths of the seven hells is now locked away in the throne room and Jon knows, he _knows_ , that's where Sansa is now. Maybe she can play the game now as well as any of them, gaining the ability to cloak her true self in a facade of deviousness and cunning thanks to Petyr Baelish but Jon knows underneath it all she's still Sansa. And Sansa is no soldier, she is not made for battle as Jon is, or as Arya is. 

His legs are throbbing with an ache he has to fight through as he runs up the steep streets towards where the great Iron Throne sits. There is a deep gash in his chest where the tip of a blade sliced through his leather doublet earlier but he tries to ignore the stinging rush of blood that seeps from the wound as he runs as fast as he's ever ran before. There is an accumulation of fighting men around the heavy doors and all Jon can see is blood and swords and fire, and he can't see her. There is no sign of her red hair or her Tully eyes and his heart beats frantically in his chest at the thought of the danger that she is in.

He's blind as he runs in, the sides of his body crashing into men he does not care to recognise as his own or Lannister, and all he's faced with is emptiness. There's no one here, only the ugly throne that so many have died for. _It belongs to my family by birth right_ , he thinks, _it belongs to the Targaryens but we've all bled for it; all of Westeros is bleeding outside on those steps_. The echoes of the fighting are distant as he walks further into the room, his steps bouncing off the walls. It's too quiet, eerily so and Jon feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He's suddenly filled with a cold sense of dread, and in that moment he knows he's lost everything. 

That thought is proven when he hears a noise on the low balcony of the throne room, and his Stark eyes turn to meet one's as blue as the sky. At first his naive and hopeful mind picture her intact, without a blemish and a smile but when he squints his eyes and looks closer he can see that she stands before him a tarnished and wrecked girl. 

Her hands are covered in crimson blood and it trails upon the golden stones like thick rose petals while the side of her blue dress blossoms with the shocking scarlet of it. There are tears in her eyes, and there's a look in them that strikes Jon with an utter panic that makes his stomach sick. He finds his legs turn to jelly and his feet stumble as he tries to move, and nothing in this world can make him believe it. He can't believe that Sansa Stark stands before him bleeding to death. 

"Jon" she whispers as she wavers and suddenly there's a clanging as he drops his sword and runs to her, his arms swooping her up as she falls. 

"Sansa, I'm here. I'm here" he soothes as he cradles her, one hand clasping on her bleeding wound. He can feel the blood spurting between his fingers and with each drop that falls from her small body her skin gets whiter and whiter. He can feel the life leaving her and with that thought he begins to cry, heavy tears that he does not feel ashamed to shed. 

"I got her, Jon" Sansa splutters, and his heart whirls as the scarlet droplets wet her pink lips but they're turned upwards into a smile that is devastating to behold "I got Cersei, I killed her. Not all this blood is mine". She seems so happy in that moment that Jon holds her tighter and rocks her back and forth, hoping that if he feels her physically then she can't leave him spiritually. Her eyes are glassy but they look down at her body, and a frown replaces her haunting smile "I got it all over my dress" she mumbles. 

"Don't worry about that now" he tells her, a shaking hand that's covered in her blood comes and wipes away a sweaty red curl from her forehead. Suddenly he's reminded of another time that seems a million years ago when he cradled another dying red head. This time it's so much worse. 

"Do you think the gods will forgive me?" Sansa asks him and her eyes meet his; glassy and full of tears. 

"Of course they will, Sansa" Jon reassures her, his arms winding around her dying body tighter when the noise of sword fighting gets closer. Her eyes close in a flutter and for a horrible moment he thinks she's gone without hearing the one thing he needs to say. But then they open again and he's washed in a relief he knows is short lived. A horrid cough wracks her body and another fresh spurt of blood as red as her hair gushes from her mouth. 

"You...." she's struggling to speak now but a trembling hand that's covered in her blood rises to his face; her touch is gentler than a whisper and Jon shivers as he feels it "you made me believe in songs again" 

She's not making sense to him, the clammy cloud of death is making her talk nonsensical but he smiles all the same and she attempts one back. There's a loud shout outside that worries Jon and he chances a look behind him to see that the doors of the throne room are being crowded by fighting men and in the distance is a storm of dragons fire. She coughs again in his arms and panic sets in as he shakes her a little. 

"Don't leave me Sansa please" he begs her, even though he knows it's no use. The gods take what they want and he can not do anything to fight that "Sansa open your eyes, please open your eyes. Don't leave me Sansa, I need you. I love you"

"Maybe in our next life, Jon Snow" her voice is weak and her body weaker and he feels her muscles getting limper as he holds her. He's shaking her uncontrollably now and crying hot and heavy tears that make no sound as they leave him. 

 _Maybe in our next life, Jon Snow._ But he wants to tell her that there is no next life, only the one the gods have chosen fit to give them. And hers is ending on the ground of a place she has hated for so long. He watches in horror as her eyes close and do not open, but his hands take her shoulders in desperation. 

"Sansa?" he asks, shaking her body lightly and then more impatient. It's no use however, and he knows that the daughter of Winterfell is gone. And with her his heart. His grief is immediate and painful, and it feels as if there is dragon fire growing inside him, burning and scorching his insides all the way through his skin. He gathers her to him, and feels his heart beating erratically against the place where hers no longer beats. 

"I love you" he whispers as he kisses her lips for the last time, and he feels the need to give her soul some comfort so he repeats her last words back to her; his mouth gentle at her ear. "Maybe in our next life, Sansa Stark" 

* * *

_1914_

Steam crowds the platform like a winter fog and Sansa can barely see anything as she's pulled along, but the only thing keeping her steady is Jon's hand in hers. She's jostled against another couple and she apologises quickly before she's whisked away in a hurry of passing passengers. Up ahead the steam from the trains engine falters and suddenly she can see again, and her eyes immediately go to the man in front of her. He keeps looking back at her with a smile, but she can tell his eyes are full of sadness that she can't help reciprocate. She feels his hand slipping and she panics to hold onto it, even though she knows she will have to let go soon enough. _But not now,_ Sansa thinks, _just another few moments._  

"This is my carriage" he tells her as he looks at the ticket in his other hand, and her heart squeezes tight inside her and she finds she cannot breathe. Her fingers crush his and he turns around to her with those sad eyes locked on hers as they peak under the cap of his officers hat. 

"I don't want you to go" Sansa tells him desperately and his plump lips turn into a soft smile. 

"I won't be gone forever" he tells her and she can't help but think of how hopeful he seems. But then Robb had seemed so hopeful and so had most of the young men back in Yorkshire, and now they were dead. War had ravaged her family and most families in Britain, and it was now taking her sweetheart away "I'll be back home soon, my darling. You needn't worry for me" 

His hand finds its way out of the cage her fingers have made around it, and he places both hands around her face. Her eyes are as clear as stained glass and her red hair is vivid and beautiful against the canvas of her ivory skin. His thumb rubs her bottom lip and she grabs the collars of his army overcoat, bringing his body closer to hers in a desperation that's contagious. They perhaps shouldn't be so forward in public, but he can't care for societies norms while he's saying goodbye to the only woman he's ever loved. 

"You'll write to me when you can?" she asks him, her knuckles stretching white under her skin as she holds him tighter and he nods as his fingers make patterns on her cheeks. 

"Everyday if I can. I won't think of anything other than you" Jon reassures but something in her mind tells her that's hardly likely. He'll be fighting under reigning bullets and striving to survive, maybe he won't have time to think of her. And maybe if he comes back he won't be the same; a man so ravaged by war and death he won't even know what love is anymore. 

"I won't think of anything else either" she tells him, stretching on her toes to get closer to his face. 

"When I come back we'll get married, Sansa" she smiles at that, picturing herself in her mothers wedding gown and Jon in a suit. She finds it is an image that can sustain a little of her happiness and hope for the future, and she's glad she has something to hold onto. The whistle of the train makes her jump, and Jon's arms are around her instantly. A call of the driver signals that the train will be leaving shortly and all around are a bustle of last goodbyes and a flood of desperation that overtakes everyone. 

"I love you, Jon" Sansa tells him as she flings her arms around his neck, her lips finding his and kissing him so severely since she's afraid at any moment he'll disappear. 

"I love you more Sansa, and I don't know how I'll live without you" he tells her as he pulls his lips away from hers. She takes his face in her hands, her soft palms being scratched by the black stubble on his jaw, and looks at him seriously. 

"I could _never_ live without you Jon Snow" her words strike something inside him that's undeniably ominous but he tries to shake it away as the train whistles louder. 

He gathers her in his arms and presses his wanting mouth on hers as he kisses her as sweethearts should kiss; slow and full of that romance everyone seeks but the one Jon and Sansa have already found. There is more declarations of love whispered and more kisses before he's ushered away from her with the swelling crowd of soldiers and officers being carried towards their carriages. His hand slips from hers and suddenly he's gone. Just like that, as quick as a swelling storm and as sad as a violent sea. 

There seems to be a whisper in the air and as she listens to it she can hear her own voice saying words she's never said. _Maybe in our next life, Jon Snow._ But then it's gone, just like him and she's left standing on the platform without him and without anything to live for. 

 _When I come back we'll get married._ They're the only words that keep her going as she continues with her everyday life, but each day gets harder, not better like her mother tells her. As she works as a nurse in Oxford and sees the men come through the doors with unimaginable injuries she can't help but think that one day her Jon will come through the door. Maybe without his limbs like some of them, or burned beyond recognition. 

He never comes through the door however, but one day the town vicar does, dipping his hat from his head as he sees her by a soldiers bedside. She knows then and there, as he holds a letter in his hands and sadness in his eyes that he's gone. When he tells her that Jon will never come back to her there is an unimaginable pain that can only match the gunfire that killed her sweetheart. And it's that pain that makes it easy to swallow a bottle of cold medicine that night and welcome death as she knows Jon has. 

* * *

  _2017_

 "It's freezing outside, Marg" Sansa complains as she's yet again taken over by a wrack of shivers that's caused by the London air. Her long legs are bare underneath her red dress and the only warmth that she's provided with is the thin leather jacket that clings to her arms. Her friend beside her rolls her eyes for the hundreth time and Sansa finds it difficult to even imagine how she's able to wear killer heels and a mini skirt in this weather. Sansa's black converse are drab in comparison. 

"Stop complaining Sansa, we're almost there" Margaery tells her as she links her arm through hers. Sansa takes her turn to roll her eyes at her friends words. She said that three blocks ago, and they still weren't anywhere near the flat. 

Margaery Tyrell was never one to pass up an opportunity to attend a party, and as always found some way to coerce Sansa into tagging along. This night however was one where Sansa would prefer to sit in their small apartment and watch sappy movies and eat ice cream. Not everyone was a social addict like Margaery. 

"Why did I even agree to come?" Sansa groans grumpily and her friend shoots her a glare that makes Sansa feel even colder. 

"Because it's your brothers party and you're going to make me look good in front of him" she tells her, her glare disappearing into a smile and Sansa can't help but groan yet again. Robb was gross, she couldn't understand why Marg wanted him so badly. But then again he was Sansa's older brother and she could never really see the appeal that other girls saw. 

The air is still chilly and full of the bite of impending winter and by the time they arrive at Robb's flat Sansa has a permanent layer of goosebumps on her legs and her red hair is a wild mess from the wind. Margaery of course looks like a Vogue model that just stepped off the runway. She enters the flat like she owns it, all swaying hips and glittering eyes and it doesn't take a second for Robb to swoop over, using his sister as an excuse for his hospitality. 

His flat was always small, and he and his room mate Theon have outdone themselves with trying to make it accommodate the sixty or so people that now crowd it. There's a snack table where the sofa used to be, and Sansa finds herself beginning to ask where it is, but she closes her mouth before she can. She feels not knowing would be better. Sweaty bodies and spilled drinks cloud the atmosphere, and so does some rap drivel that Sansa never had any time to listen to but is now blasting from speakers she cannot place.

All of a sudden she's left alone and when she looks around for her brother and friend she sees them heading towards the kitchen. _Great_ , she thinks, _now what do I do?_

She spins around furiously in an attempt to follow her abandoning companions and she's knocked into a passing party goer with two cups of cola in his hands. It splashes all down her front and there's a grunt from the guy she's knocked into, a sorry sort of sound that makes her believe this has happened already tonight. The sticky soda runs down her jacket and there's a stench to it that tells her instantly that it's laced with something akin to vodka.

"I am so sorry" the guy tells her as she shakes out her jacket at the front.

"No, it's totally my fault. I wasn't looking where I was......" she looks up at the stranger and with the meeting of their eyes comes a feeling that makes Sansa turn to stone.

His eyes are so grey that they're almost black, and they're not dull but as deep as the midnight sky. Her heart is racing and she can feel it thumping against her ribcage but she can't make it slow down, and it's all because of this man, this stranger that feels so familiar. There's a voice inside her head that tells her to look away, to break eye contact with this beautiful man but logic is abandoned and she finds she can't bear to bring herself to do it. He's staring at her too though, and the blue of her eyes makes him think of things he can't possibly have experienced. But he sees her in pools of crimson, and with tears upon her face and it's almost like he can imagine her voice saying things he's never heard her say before. These strange images vanish from his mind though when someone behind him jostles into him. Their eye contact is broken and so is the tether to whatever he was thinking. 

"I'm Jon" he tells her dumbly, his voice dreamlike and slow. 

"Sansa" she tells him with a smile, and it's in that moment he's hit with something the same as nostalgia, and it's almost like he can taste it. _I know that name_ , he thinks, _I know that smile. **I know this girl.**_

"Forgive me but have we ever met before?" he asks her and he watches as she shakes her head, her red hair falling around her eyes. _Red hair. Hair as red as scarlet blood upon golden flagstones._

"I don't believe we have" Sansa tells him, and he can't help but feel disappointed. He was so sure that he had known her. 

"I just can't help but feel like I know you" Jon is not one for forwardness or cliches but he can't help himself; the feeling is too strong to ignore. He feels foolish for voicing it aloud when she doesn't say anything back and her blue eyes study him curiously. "I'm sorry that was probably a really stupid thing to say"

"You know what? I feel the very same way" she's just met him, she knows that, but there's a feeling inside her rising like a ghost that makes her think of love. It's like the echo of a memory, like when someone tries to remember something they done when they were very young and it's like she's remembering being in love with this person. It's an impossibility but one she can't shake. Jon takes a look around him to see more people arriving at the door and notices how the already cramped flat is getting altogether claustrophobic. 

"This might be too forward, but do you want to leave and get a drink somewhere more quiet?" his eyes are hopeful and his plump lips are made into a smile that she feels warmth at immediately. 

"I'd love that" Sansa tells him without hesitation and the smile on his pleasantly handsome face only gets wider. 

Their souls, forever entwined because of a promise made in another life, leave the party together and all the noise behind. Centuries and eras had to go by for them to find each other, but no great amount of time would be spent apart. They were forever linked, and no death would ever be great enough to separate them. They were two souls born from tragedy, only to die again in love. 

 


End file.
